


And her eyes were wild

by AliveArsenic



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Accidental Voyeurism, Alternate Universe, Consensual Power Play, F/F, Getting Together, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex, Mutual Pining, Ritual Sex, Trolls are Gods, also it has some pale betaOT4 because... i love them i'm sorry, and your friend is cool, but also you have a crush on a may-be fictional entity, can you guess who the abuse and the alcohol refer to ahah, hashtag relatable, that feel when you grow up
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-07-11
Updated: 2017-08-03
Packaged: 2018-11-30 17:48:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 20,684
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11468583
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AliveArsenic/pseuds/AliveArsenic
Summary: Jade is lonely. Then she's not. Then she is. Then she's not.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [someone_else](https://archiveofourown.org/users/someone_else/gifts).



> Hello to my giftee, someone_else, and happy Derse Polyswap Challenge Day !  
> So, first of all, thank you for your prompts, man, they were all so fun and interesting! Eventually, I went with the Rose/Jade/Aradia one because I too am a sucker for god/mortals power dynamics, but what I intended to be 5 pages of fun smut turned into like... 60 pages of slow burn romance and sexual tension? SO I HOPE IT'S STILL OK WITH YOU I'm sorry I think I'm just bad at writing porn :(  
> And here we come to my second apology: due to personal mental health problems, I wasn't able to completely finish your gift in time. I'm working on it right now, and actually wrote the major part of it, but I don't know if I'll be able to finish by the end of the day, and since I'm a loser when it comes to time conversion, I still don't know if I have sixteen hours or just six in front of me, so. So! What I've decided to do is to upload this fic in chapters until it's over: at which point I'll get rid of the chapters and just publish it as a one-shot. I am dreadfully sorry about it, because I know it's not fun for you! I hope you'll still like the story, though. I had a lot of fun with it (first time writing Jade!!) and I can't wait to write the ending!  
> Also, English isn't my first language, so you might see, like, a fuckton of grammar mistakes? And I'm also sorry about them. Man, what a sorry bunch!   
> Anyway, thank you for your cool prompts, have fun, and have a nice day !

“I met a lady in the meads,  
Full beautiful, a fairy’s child;  
Her hair was long, her foot was light,  
And her eyes were wild.”

John Keats – _La Belle Dame sans Merci_

 

You’ve known these woods your whole life, and yet they always manage to surprise you. You’ve never felt in danger here – how could you, with Bec by your side! – but the forest always stays the perfect amount of mysterious, and you shiver excitedly when you realise you don’t recognise the path anymore.

\- I think we’re not in Kansas anymore, Bec, you tell your best friend, who’s too busy making sure you don’t trip in muddy puddles to answer you.

The trees are getting closer and closer, taller too, with small drops of sunlight here and there, but shadows everywhere else. The path is nothing but a faint trace between the bushes. Your breath gets slower, and you open your eyes as widely as you can. Bec follows your lead and you both silently creepy beneath the trees.

You’re the Wolfhunter, a famous wanderer, always followed by your faithful companion, the White Wolf itself. You’ve heard tales of a beautiful beast-princess living in the woods, and you’re not coming back to the village before you see her for yourself. No sound must be made. The beastfolks know the woods better than you do: to approach the princess, you’ll need patience, chance and discretion.

The birds sing high above your head, their voices stifled by the heavy leaves. And there’s a noise... You close your eyes for a moment, try to listen better – yes, that’s what you thought, there’s a river near. Beastfolks, even royalty, are usually spotted near water. What a chance! But it’s not really luck, because you always know these things. You’re the Wolfhunter, and also you have this thing where you can see the future when you really concentrate on things, so! Not a big deal.

Still, because you want to be dramatic, you lower your head and whisper to Bec:

\- We’re lucky today. The gods must be with us!

Bec blinks slowly, as if to say “I know, we’re on a good roll. Let’s keep going, but be careful!”

You nod:

\- Always, dear friend!

You keep going in the direction of the sound. But after a while, and as the sound gets clearer, you end up facing a wall of thorny bushes. The small scarlet flowers form compact clusters and block your view of the river. You click your tongue in frustration. The river must be right behind.

\- What should we do? The water is so close, but these bushes look so impenetrable.

You repeat the last word _, impenetrable_ , with a dramatic shake of your head and a lot of satisfaction (you’ve learnt the word recently and boy, it’s just so _darn_ fancy!)

Bec shakes his head in return: “adventuring is hard, Wolfhunter. Royalty isn’t easily reached. You’ve faced harder challenges. I say, let’s head on!”

You nod:

\- Wise as always, dear friend. Let’s go, then!

You get on your knees and start to crawl in the mud, Bec right by your side.

It’s not that difficult, but it’s not easy either. Sharp pain makes your eyes water as your hair gets tangled in the thorns. Branches scratch your legs and arms, and for a brief, terrifying second, you think you’re going to lose your glasses in the mud (and if Grandpa’s ok with you wandering around, he’s definitely _not_ ok with you making your glasses dirty again), but with a push of his nose Bec puts them right back on your face and you clear the last feet unharmed.

You don’t look at the river yet, trying to create some suspense. Instead, you stop to detangle your hair and Bec’s fur from the branches, and then, finally, take a deep breath and turn around to take it all in.

It’s not a bad place. The stream’s wider than what you thought it’d be, with a cascade on your right and large green stones half buried in the silt. Drops of sunlight fall into the water with lazy rainbow highlights. You catch small black fish swimming swiftly with the current.

It’s a nice place. You let a big smile bloom on your face.

-We did it! you shout proudly, forgetting your game for a second.

Bec barks in return and you hug him like the big furry friend he is, and he slobs happily on your shoulders.

\- Thank gods, we’re alive! I didn’t think we’d see the light of sun again.

You quickly make the sign of your Main – you kind of twist your hand with your fingers wide open, then close your palm, echoing her Space Spiral – so she knows you’re grateful, then let a dramatic sigh of relief out.

\- All right, time to check on the water!

You scoot closer to the mossy bank, then put a cautious hand in the water. Swarms of brown tadpoles, obviously disrupted in their tadpoles activities, suddenly burst out of their hiding and wriggle around your hand. You laugh, delighted, and you’re in the process of trying to catch one when you see Bec’s ears suddenly perk up. You immediately stop what you’re doing to look in the same direction.

He’s watching the bushes on the opposite bank. They’re even redder than those you previously fought against, with more flowers, larger leaves, brownish scarlet thorns reaching up and down in shiny crosshatchings. You stay perfectly still for a moment. You hope it’s a rabbit. You love rabbits.

But nothing moves, and after a while, you get tired of waiting, so you yawn and hit Bec lightly on the head:

\- What are you looking at, you big dummy? ‘Twas the leaves.

Bec is still intently looking at the bushes. You sigh – this time, a real sigh – and move your scrapped legs so you can put your feet in the water:

\- Go on, catch whatever you’re looking for, I’ll wait here, okay?

Bec doesn’t need to hear it twice: he immediately jumps on the nearest rock, and in three powerful strides he’s on the other side of the river with his nose deep in the mud. You let him do his things. He’s your best friend, but he’s a good dog first, and good dogs do silly things sometimes.

You wiggle your toes in the water, feel the silt dance on your skin. Bec lets out a low bark and you call out to him:

\- Hey, boy, show me what you caught!

He turns his big white head to look at you. There’s nothing in his mouth, but his whole body is tense, like he’s ready to go off at any second. He barks again, low and short, and his eyes shine:

“There’s something there, come, come and see!”

Your muscles tense and you reach for your sandals, not breaking eye contact:

\- Something interesting?

“Very interesting.”

It’s obvious he wants to go, and if you told him to he’d have pounced before you could have finished your sentence; but he waits for you, and you hastily put your shoes back on and jump across the stream.

Bec starts digging his way through the bushes as soon as you reach the bank. This time, you don’t hesitate: you go down on your belly and crawl under the thorns, eyes wide open and hands covered in bloody scrapes.

It’s thicker than those you went through before, with longer branches that get in your way and thousands of rusty flowers that go up your nose; Bec’s still going strong, though. You hear him on your left, all paws and claws, and you diligently follow his lead. You like to try and feel like him, be like him: wolven and dangerous, just the way you’re usually not.

It feels like you’re going to be crawling here forever – and just as you think this, light breaks out and you grasp handfuls of clean, not-harmful, not-full-of-pointy-bits forest grass. You push yourself out with a vicious scream:

\- AaaaAAH!

You take a big, slightly unnecessary gulp of air, and get yourself out of this thorny mess with something close to pride in your chest. You kind of want to scream “VICTORY IS OURS” or something like that, just to make it official. You don’t, of course, first because it’s stupid, second because there’s something in front of you, and the light is still blinding, a bit, so you blink, clean your glasses with your dirty shirt, put them back on, and you can see.

You’re in a clearing. You’ve lived here for ten years, which is to say, your whole life, but you’ve never seen it. You must be far from home.

The clearing is round and clean. Light dances between the trees and birds sings in prettier voices than they usually do. It’s warm here.

In the middle of the clearing, there is a big wooden statue. It’s an old statue; the wood is cracked; it’s overgrown with vines. Its two branches spiral into infinity with the same rusty colour as the flowers you came from.

You immediately recognise an altar to one of the star gods. It’s not your Main, and not the one you were born under, but you still know it’s sacred.

At the bottom of the steps, bathed in sunlight, is a girl your age. She’s reading a big black book. Her hair is the whitest you’ve ever seen.

It takes you three tries before you manage to say:

\- Hello?

You’re half-expecting her to greet you with grey skin and golden eyes. Instead, she throws a peek at you over her book, mouth and nose still hidden behind the pages. Her eyes are very dark.

\- And who are you, now, to dare interrupt my peaceful retreat from this cruel yet passive world filled with apathetic, slow, stupidly ignorant herbivorous animals?

You blink a few times, then squint, but no, she’s definitely human. Uh. Well. All right.

You’re not too sure how to answer (you’re not even sure what she said actually made sense in the first place), so you kind of shrug and say:

\- I’m Jade.

Bec shakes himself and you pat him on the head:

\- He’s Becquerel. You can call him Bec. He likes it better.

The girl keeps on peering at you over her book. There’s something a bit too cold in her attitude, like he thinks she’s so much better than you, that makes you straighten your back and ask in your best I-Want-Answers voice (the voice you usually give the Wolfhunter when he’s on a mission):

\- And who are _you_? How did you get there? This place is sacred.

\- Oh, do I know that.

\- I don’t think you should be here.

\- It makes two of us, then, says the girl.

Very slowly, she lowers her book. Sunlight hits her pale face like she’s made of stone. She’s all pointy bits and thin bones, with heavy lidded eyes, and a white fringe stopping straight above her eyebrows. You notice she’s wearing very dark lipstick, but it’s a bit smudged on her chin. She must have wiped her mouth or something and forgot about it. It makes you smile, and she squints:

\- What’s so hilarious?

\- Nothing. What’s your name? I gave you mine.

Her hands fold neatly on the leathery cover of her book:

\- I’m Rose, says Rose.

\- Oh. All right. Do you live here?

\- Have been for the past ten years, much to my despair. This place is one of the only quiet parts of this Gods-forgotten town that I bear to go to in order to find some peace and comfort in such dark times. I must be honest with you, it pains me ever so slightly to see that I am not the only bearer of the knowledge of such a place anymore.

Her speech is filled with big words, things you find a bit unnecessary (is she trying to impress you or something?), and it would probably be ridiculous if she didn’t look so sure of herself. She talks quietly, but there’s power behind her words, with the sure slowness of someone who knows what they are going to say.

All right, maybe you’re a bit intimidated. You shrug again:

\- I go around a lot. I’ll leave, if you want to.

\- No! – No, it’s not what I meant. I. Uh.

She looks down, her perfect white hair covering her eyes, and you realise you still haven’t moved an inch since you started talking to her. You quickly look at Bec.

\- Is she ok to be around? you whisper, careful to make sure she doesn’t hear you.

Bec nods: “Yes, I’ll allow it.”

You feel so glad he said yes. Most kids don’t want to be around you because of Bec – he scares them. The others aren’t allowed near you. Grandpa insisted it was for your protection. You’re not sure what you should be protected of. It does makes you kind of lonely, though.

You look back at Rose, who is still pretending to look at something very interesting near her left foot. She doesn’t have shoes on.

\- Is it ok if I come near you? you ask, remembering Grandpa’s upbringing (Jade, a true gentleman always asks permission before he gets closer to a lady!)

Rose nods:

\- Yes, I would like it. I’d hate to be rude, but you standing in the shadows, hands covered in blood, with a dog I suspect to be part wolf by your side and no one else around to hear me scream looks like the beginning of a teenage amateur horror movie and I don’t want to be part of it.

She taps her skirt’s pocket:

\- Plus, my phone is dead.

You can’t help but gape:

\- Wow, you’ve got a phone? A real phone? At your age? That’s so fancy!

Rose doesn’t look too happy about it:

\- Mother can be, ah, quite insistent about Stranger Danger. I suspect she only uses it to spy on me and locate me through my GPS or browse through my Internet history. She says she is devoted to my safety. I think she’s just trying to bother me.

\- My Grandpa and her must have been to the same “Take Care Of Your Kid” class then, you say, and point to Bec who throws you a sombre look.

Rose’s lips curl into the pointiest tiniest smile. She shuffles on the steps, then lightly pats the old creaky rusty wood:

\- Come on. Sit with me. If the star goddess allowed us to talk for so long, she won’t mind us sitting here for a little while, I am certain.

You happily oblige, and you sit with delight next to Rose. Your scratched bloodied legs gladly thank you for the pause.

Rose smells like fancy perfume, lady perfume. Now that you two are closer you can see that despite her makeup she looks very young. She must be in school. The sunlight warms your skin pretty quickly, and you realise you were feeling a bit cold.

\- What are you reading? you ask after a while.

She shows you the cover:

\- It’s called _The Resurrectionist_. It tells the fascinating, albeit forgotten story of Dr. Spencer Black.

\- What did he do?

\- He thought mythical creatures such as Harpies, Centaurs and the likes were the biological ancestors of human race, hence the similarities between our species. You do know what biological ancestors are, do you?

You nod enthusiastically, and you’re ready to answer, but your saliva is suddenly heavy and you turn your head to spit a mix of dirt and blood that got caught in your mouth. When you get back to her, you catch her eyes. She looks weirded out. You try to explain:

\- I had to crawl to get here.

You needlessly point to the thorny bushes. You’re not even sure she can see them from where she is.

\- Bad stuff, you say.

\- Bad stuff, she repeats.

Her eyes get suddenly very bright, and she puts her hand in front of her mouth to hide a silly high-pitched laugh. The contrast with her previous, poised, slightly arrogant self is so huge it makes you laugh as well. You throw your head back, and that’s when you see – you think you saw –

She’s standing atop the two horns of the altar, red robes and hoods bright against the dark green of the trees. Her hair is long, her teeth pointy, and her eyes shine bright gold in the sunlight.

She smiles at you. Her lips are heavy, bright red too. You feel your heart beat faster, and as it does her eyes gleam mischievously.

A bird sings a bit louder than the others, and with that, she’s gone completely.

You immediately look at Rose, ready to burst, but the look she throws you tells you that it’s not necessary: she saw her too.

\- Holy shit, you say.

Rose nods, eyes wide open.

\- Holy shit.


	2. Chapter 2

It doesn’t take very long for Rose to become your best friend, as she is the only friend you have (Bec, of course, is still your friend, but he’s on another level of friendship completely – so he only half-counts). You really like her! She acts like a grown-up with her big fancy words and all the dark stuff she likes, but you’ve seen her pretend to have a weird parasite-induced disease by sticking two snails to her eyes, so you know it’s mostly play. And she’s really fun to play with! She brings a lot of good ideas to the table, is very dedicated in her roles, and can make one _mean_ sea-monster dying scream.

Sometimes, she looks almost too good for you – like, she’s so clever, and she can fight well, too, and she never looks afraid of anything! After a couple of months of regular meetings, you find out you don’t only like Rose – you kind of really admire her, as well.

That’s a good thing. You’ve never had a lot of living people around to admire.

You two meet up almost every day at the altar in the woods. You quickly find a path that’s quicker and less pain-inducing than the one you first took – it’s the one that goes up the eastern road, near the school. It’s a bit far away from home, but it’s worth it.

You never see anyone else on this path. It’s obvious it hasn’t been cleaned in a long time, and it looks more like a beast’s trail than an actual path, although your frequent passages have flattened the grass now. It kind of baffles you to think people would leave an altar unattended. For you, sacred ground is sacred ground. You know it’s not common anymore to worship, but still! What are the gods going to think? As Rose would probably say “truly, I say, this is most improper”. Or something like that.

Plus, you kind of think you saw one of the star gods there, so it doesn’t take you long to get really interested in this forgotten statue. After a bit of research in Grandpa’s library, you’ve found that it belongs to the first goddess of the cycle of the twelve, the Rustblood known as the Expl0rer.

You don’t find much about her, much to your disappointment. The book says her cult is small. She’s not as famous as most others. She’s friends with the Fae-Ruler (oh, you know this one, he rules the stars you were born under, the Bright Wings), a redlover to her Imperial Radiance, a blacklover to Marauder 8r8kdice, a palelover to the Dispuscho. Her horns are said to have bore the frog in which the universe grew. She goes on adventures with small kids, often leading to their death. And that’s... Pretty much all you can find.

You’re definitely not happy about that. Fortunately, your new friend is as enthusiastic about the red figure you both saw (or are at least fairly sure you saw) and made some research on her own with the help of Internet (she’s got Internet at home! And you’ve got Grandpa, who’s still not sure about getting a wireless phone. Darn, Grandpa, why do you have to be so old-school? Man, you just _can’t_ _wait_ to have your own computer!)

She stayed fairly mysterious about the whole thing (there are some secrets you should never be aware of, she says in that dark tone of voice she takes when she wants to be all cool), but apparently, the Expl0rer was also known as Aradia Megido. She was the first of the gods to wander the world, and because she was bored, decided to make it so Time existed, and after she came Past was a thing, and Now as well, and the Future was bright and so the others decided it was ok to come join her. After that, she wandered around, and made herself quiet.

Rose then lowered her voice, and said some thought she was a goddess of death and bad omen. After all, she created Time, and so she created Endings – and why would anyone do that if they weren’t a particularly cruel individual?

The stories say she died when she was young, then had her remains burnt to be brought back to life, but, inside, she kept the knowledge of What Happened Next. When most of their followers see this story as a symbol of revival and strength beyond time, others worship her in dark and bloody ways, with chants in the forgotten tongue of the Broodfesters, dark dances, and even, sometimes, human sacrifices. To them, she’s not the Expl0rer, but the Demoness, the first and last god of this universe.

Rose is very good at telling stories, especially scary ones. It has something to do with her pointy face, and how large her eyes look when it’s dark outside. You’re both sitting on the porch of your house as she’s telling you this. Grandpa immediately took a liking to her strange polite self; he gave her a huge blanket that made her look like a fat, pink, distressed penguin, then made them cactus juice and let them roam freely in the gardens.

Now, twilight’s setting; and with the faint brightness of the stars behind Rose, and the purple sky, and the dark night right above, her whispered tales of dark majyycks seem much more real than in the light of day. You think back to the pointy teeth and full red lips you saw that afternoon.

\- You think that’s what she’s dressed in red? Because she bathes in blood?

\- Who knows? That would be quite a show. A ten-feet-tall creature, scarlet horns circling around her head, looking right at you with bright yellow eyes as she drinks from the pond she’s bathing in – except it’s not water, but an endless stream of flowing blood.

\- Or a really big bathtub.

\- Yeah, I suppose they don’t always have to bathe in cold rivers all the time, do they?

\- Yeah, gods can be modern too! I’m sure when they first created the world they used to bathe in bad sea water or something – but like, now that we have better things, like showers, why not use them?

\- Do you think anyone’s ever built a bathtub for a god?

\- We could do that for Aradia, so she doesn’t eat us in our sleep, you suggest.

\- Are you implying that we may have angered the goddess of Death somehow?

\- Don’t be silly! She loves us! Otherwise she wouldn’t let us go to the altar _aaaall_ the time.

Rose smiles. It’s true, though – you don’t wander in the woods as much as you used to do, and stick to the clearing instead. Rose goes to school, and you don’t (not yet, you’ll go to middle-school, but for now Grandpa insisted he homeschooled you and taught you “real things”, like using rifles and running very fast), so she’s not there as much as you, but she admitted it’s the first place she checks before going home.

Besides, you actually like being at the altar! It’s stupid, but this place makes you feel... At peace, but excited at the same time, like something wonderful could happen at any moment. Of course, now that you know about the goddess’ bloody past, you’re afraid it’s not going to feel as great.

\- Maybe she thinks we go there to pray to her?

\- Have we ever said anything nice about her?

Rose shrugs:

\- I’m almost certain we used her as our divine ally in our quest to retrieve the body of Lady Madeline the Third from the tombs of Xerxes, last time. That must count as something.

\- Well, I wouldn’t count on it. Now I’m sure we definitely have to build that bathtub so she knows we’re ok girls.

Rose laughs, a delightful silly laugh:

\- We can’t build a bathtub on sacred ground!

\- Bet we can! You’ll provide with the materials –

\- Sure, I mean, you know me, I’m always here to help designing furniture for beings beyond our realm. For this one, I’m thinking stolen centuries-old gravestones in a small haunted cemetery, extremely trendy this season –

\- – and I’ll carve it and everything! you continue, half-joking and half-not (you mean, you’ve already built robots and cars, courtesy of your Grandpa who knew a man, before, who built robots like no one else, or so he said, and he looked nostalgic while talking about it, said he would have loved being good at it too, so you wanted to make him happy and eventually, you took a liking to technology – point is, what’s a bathtub next to this? That’s right, nothing.)

\- You know what? I’m in. Poetry and human sacrifices are so last year. Durable furniture, now, that’s what gods truly desire.

\- Argh, you’re so silly! I’m sure she’ll love it!

You point to the stars and say loudly:

\- Aradia Megido, if you’d like a cool bathtub, send us a sign!

You both look at the stars in anticipation, but nothing changes. You do feel a bit disappointed. Rose must feel it, because she nudges you playfully:

\- Do not worry. We’ll build her the most magnificent bathtub in the history of man and godkind. She simply won’t be able to stay indifferent to its charms, and she’ll be the one thanking us. This bond will transcend human traditions. It’ll be a love beyond the stars. Nothing will stand in our way.

You look at the night’s sky again. You already have a Main (the space seamstress, whom you chose when you were very very small) and you don’t want to forget about her, because her figure means a lot to you – but like, rules are the worst, right? And you’ve got to admit it’d be really cool to be a god’s favourite. Imagine the adventures! You sigh dreamily:

\- Man, I can’t wait until we get there.

Rose nods:

\- Man, I wholeheartedly agree.

***

In the end, you don’t build a bathtub, because a year later you’re starting school, so you get... Problems that make you forget about it (girls laughing at you when you say you’re still not shaving and you don’t know slurs and you don’t want to date this greasy pimply boy that’s sitting next to you in math class; people telling you to sit sit sit sit all day; classes and recitations and petty conflicts between classmates; Bec can’t come with you; you feel slow and stupid, even when you get good grades in science and biology and maths, because why can’t you act normal? you’re too excitable, you talk too loudly, they say you’re childish, you’re not _mature_ like them; also there are times where things become too fast for you, too loud, too much, and girls lock you in the room you go to cry for the whole afternoon and you feel like you just can’t breathe and you’re so angry at yourself to be so damn _weak_ –)

So yeah, you don’t build a bathtub.

But you don’t forget about Aradia. Rose and you still go at the altar to play sometimes and the star goddess is your to-go ally slash sponsor slash damsel in distress in all of your adventures. You never see her again, but it feels... Right, to use her in your stories. It’s the closest to reverence that you both can get. You also make sure you’re never mean to her, so she doesn’t get angry. Sometimes, you dream she comes watch you both as you play, and she applauds when you’re done. It’s a good sign. You like dreaming about her.

But you guess maybe you shouldn’t play pretend like this anymore. That’s not a mature thing to do, and Rose would maybe like to hang out with people that act more like their age? And you wouldn’t want to lose Rose.

You ask her, one day, as you’re both lying on the warm steps of the altar. She snorts, a silly snort:

\- By gods, Jade, have you even seen these babbling buffoons? Their deplorable lack of vocabulary? Their odious body smell? Their shoes? Why would I spend time laughing with Jessica Spencer about the _a-bso-lu-tely_ _crazy antics_ of infamous couple Valerie Margette and Joshua Hillstone, when I can pretend being an ocean goddess whose power comes directly from a divine being to whom I’ve now been married to twenty-three times?

It makes sense, you guess, except... Well, you feel like you _fit_ the babbling buffoon description. You’re just a girl with her dog, and Rose is – well, she’s Rose. Like, you know she’s not exempt of defaults! She’s just... She’s very good. She looks so nice, and she’s so clever, and imaginative and snarky and cool and basically the best! And she’s your best friend.

You don’t want her not to feel the same way.

She says she doesn’t. It’d be rude not to believe her, right? So you believe her. Plus, it’s so obvious when she’s with people she doesn’t like – it’s like she’s just bitten straight into an unpeeled lemon, where she smiles with all four front teeth out, and she frowns in the most hilarious way. She’s never acted like this with you. So she must say the truth! Yeah, she likes you. She likes you. She likes you.

She does. She does.

She’s not in the same class as you, though, so she can’t help you when life gets to you in school. Bah, why worry her about it? And anyway, when you two see each other, it’s like most of the bad things never happened. You laugh (Rose can be so funny when she wants to, and most of all when she doesn’t!) and exchange bad ideas (like that time you stole all the frozen duck hearts in the bio labs and wrote an ominous birthday message to a French teacher who you saw kissing the sciences teacher behind the bins – it was Rose’s idea, and man, that was a fun day) and write stories you never finish (Va’N’Dala the Eight-Crowned Waves Seer and Dramo the Lone Cloudshunter, soon in all libraries close to you) and explore ruins in the forest (Rose sprained her ankle there and you had to carry her all the way home while she bitterly complained in your ear, which made you think that yes, she was very good, but also, she wouldn’t be your exploration buddy anymore) and watch anime together (Rose likes the modern ones, “classics”, as she calls them; you like old ones better and think they’re much closer to classics than the new ones, because duh, they're old, but you just can’t win an argument against this lady over there!) and all the things friends do.

You’re glad you have such a good friend by your side!

And most of the time, you don’t feel lonely.

***

It’s the second day after Christmas break, right after lunchtime. Rose is home with a cold that left her looking like a snail drowned in its own body fluids (but grumpily, you added, which made her frown even harder), so you’re alone at school. You’re not very happy about it.

That’s when someone says, “oh my god, someone’s on the roof!” and you look up, and sure enough, there’s a kid on the roof. He arrived yesterday in your class. You don’t remember his name. Right now he’s got a funny t-shirt with a guy’s head on it (you think he’s a famous actor, but you don’t watch many movies, much to Grandpa’s disappointment), thick-framed glasses, and he’s cautiously approaching what looks like a live rabbit.

\- He’s going to fall! the same guy shouts.

You squint, make sure your glasses are in the right position:

\- No.

The guy looks a bit puzzled by your assurance:

\- What?

\- Nah, he’s not going to fall, you repeat.

\- You like know him and shit?

\- No, I just – I just know, he’s not going to fall.

You’re not lying. You just know. Sometimes, you just know stuff. It’s kind of handy, especially when you play Scrabble with Rose, because you can tell when she’s going to put a lengthy stupid word that doesn’t even exist in the dictionary on the board and cut her right here – but yeah, wow, you think a lot about Rose, don’t you? Anyway.

You both look at that kid on the roof in silence. It kind of strikes you that you two seem to be the only two people to have noticed this kid doing dumb manoeuvres thirty feet above the ground in order to get to an actual in the flesh rabbit.

\- Huh, says the guy.

\- You don’t say.

\- I should get someone.

\- Yeah.

\- So, you uh, look after him?

\- Yeah.

\- Cool.

\- Cool.

The guy goes. It takes you thirty seconds of silent waiting before you join the kid on the roof (and honestly, if they wanted you not to go up there, they shouldn’t have made it so easily accessible! All you had to do is get on a couple of pipes and the windows offered perfect climbing support, so really, school master, get your things straight!).

\- Hey, the kid says.

\- Hey. What are you doing?

\- Oh, it’s just my rabbit Liz Taylor. She got up there, so I’m picking her up.

\- You know you shouldn’t be here, right?

The kid shrugs. He has big teeth just like you, black hair just like you, and his glasses fall a bit on his round nose.

\- It’s my daughter! Leaving her up here would be child abuse. What kind of monster do you think I am?

That makes you laugh, and he laughs too, because that was silly! But cool.

\- Let me do this. I’m good with animals.

\- Be careful! She’s so soft she might slip out of your hands like a soft, soft cotton candy cloud.

\- I won’t hurt your daughter, mister, don’t you worry!

You extend your hand towards the (incredibly chill) rabbit, which looks at it with sad black eyes. The kid by your side makes all kinds of “gasp” noises:

\- Liz, plumbaby! Come back here! Don’t jump! You have so much to live for!

You still have your arm outstretched, and the rabbit is still considering it intensely. Your heart pounds in your chest. You feel like you’re in the middle of an explosion-powered action movie. Grandpa would surely be proud!

Meanwhile, the kid keeps on calling his rabbit with names like “sugarcube”, “golden chérie girl” and “precious wild wood flower”, to which the rabbit seems deaf. However, your now cramped hand looks like it finally got its attention. After a couple of minutes, it raises its (ok, adorable, you gotta admit) head, shakes its (adorable) ears, and hops in an adorable manner until its tiny tiny nose boops your fingers, very lightly.

Gods do you love animals!

In a couple of seconds, Liz Taylor is tucked into the kid’s loving embrace as he coos at her like a baby. Jade pats her on the head, and the kid’s right, she’s incredibly soft.

\- Do you brush her?

\- Yeah! But not too much, because she’s still a living creature, and she needs her space, and I try my best to be a good dad!

\- Parenting is so difficult. You have all my respect!

The kid nods with a bright dorky smile:

\- Thanks! My name’s John. I’ve seen you in class! You’re like, super good at science! I want to be a physicist when I grow up, or a comedian, or a magician.

\- You could be all three at once? That’d be a good example for the kids!

John laughs again, obviously delighted. He has a nerdy, carefree laugh, that makes you want to laugh as well.

\- Hey, let’s get down before the director shows up and puts us in kid jail or something!

And with that, he basically freefalls his way down the building, Liz Taylor in his hands. That’s more or less the moment when you decide you like him, even if he looks like a total nerd! Because that was awesome, and he didn’t even hurt himself, and he had a pet rabbit, and you don’t have anyone to sit next to in class.

So, yeah. You hope you two can be friends.

***

Three weeks later John and you decide you’re lost twins that a cruel fate has divided before someone (gods, maybe, or a higher power, who knows? It’s still a work in progress, you have time to figure it out) took pity on you. Now, you’re going to find those who separated you, as well as your real parents (John’s adopted, just like you, which is, well, sad, but comforting, in a way you can’t really explain), kick ass, and maybe have a sick motorcycle so you can drive away from an explosion while looking really really cool, but not before you save him from some terrible catastrophe like jumping in front of a meteor for him or something.

That’s friendship for you.

(Rose likes him, which is a relief. She sasses him a lot and gets all psychological with him, which is always fun to watch – and John doesn’t really seem to get that it just means she’s playing with him, but it’s ok, she never goes where it really hurts, like the obvious loneliness and self-esteem issues and all the other stuff – because, despite everything, Rose is nice. She doesn’t believe you when you tell her so, but you know that. Dumb Rose, she’s so dumb! You really like her.)

(You’re glad she’s ok with John. You’re glad John’s ok with Rose. You’re glad Bec is ok with both of them. You’re glad to have friends. Gods, you’re glad to have friends.)

***

It hits you, sometimes, that you’re not the only friend that your friends have. It breaks your heart, but you know it’s stupid, so you don’t talk about it. Plus, your friends have real problems, like Rose and her mother and the constant drinking that made her tear up more than once in your garden, and is the main reason why you don’t go to her house anymore – so like, why would you add more worrying on her plate? Plus, Grandpa always taught you how to be self-reliant, because he says that he doesn’t want you to be a weak silly dummy like he was, so. No crying. No crying.

John is your absolute best human boy friend (a friend who is a boy, that is!), so when he rants about stuff you know nothing about, you listen to him, because who are you to shame people about nerdy interests! Plus, sometimes, you actually get interested. Argh, focus! You have troubles focusing on things. Teachers hate it. Anyway!

So! John’s been talking a lot about this one guy, in another class, about how dorky he is and how pseudo cool he acts, but they had a clownsona war in art class so he’s just a huuuge fucking idiot, and he rants, and rants, and! This mystery coolkid is his friend. Rose teases him about it in her peculiar Rose way, sometimes – my, John, could this be the faintest hint at a promising blossoming romance? And he answers, red as a beetle:

\- Hey, that’s not fair! You and Jade are like, besties who share secrets and braid each other’s hair and have pillow fights like in teenage movies. Why can’t I have a platonic best bro as well?

You can’t really answer back, because Rose’s sitting on your lap at lunch break, painting your nails in green (“Um, it’s called Sacramento Sexy Sleepover, sweetie, not _green_ ”, “uhuh, sure, whatever you say!), so it’d be hard to deny you’re a close pair. John’s right: it’s only fair he gets his own load of secret adventures in the woods with his best friend! So you don’t feel bad, no, you don’t.

It’s Rose who eventually asks John to cut straight to the end and present you this anonymous stranger, because you are his friends, and you should know who he is hanging with, yes young man!

The smile he both throws you is almost enough to make you forget your friends have a life that do not involve you and you don’t. He promises you’re going to love him (“especially Rose!” he adds), gets up from his chair, disappears for literally ten seconds, then comes back with a blond boy you’ve never even seen around. John is beaming. He looks so proud of himself, like he just pulled off a particularly difficult magic trick. You wouldn’t be surprised: the boy he brought with him looks so awkward and tense he might as well be coming out of a hat. He’s wearing a pair of really pointy shades you’re sure you’ve seen somewhere, and an old Eminem t-shirt.

He must have caught you staring, because he asks, and wow, his voice is so... Weird! Southern heavy, but monotone at the same time, a cassette on repeat – not a voice you’d hear in the body of a twelve years-old, no:

\- You like rap, young lady? Well, let me tell you, this ain’t your ordinary fanboy t-shirt – no Etsy bullshit here, nah – this was printed by the man himself, all Slime and Shade and stuff, right in his caravan when he was just oozing spaghettis from all six holes, then lovingly hand-signed in the back, and then I think used as a beer sponge, given the smell and the, um, general aspect of it? I guess it adds to that special feel of authenticity, that good brand quality freshness, the spécialité du chef, if you will.

Suddenly, it comes back to you, and you snap your fingers excitedly:

\- I remember now! You have Kamina’s shades in Gurenn Lagann! Hey, Rose, remember this one? It was so good!

The kid seems taken aback for a split second, and you see his mouth open, but nothing comes out of it. There’s a sea of dark freckles under his dark skin that make him look younger than he sounds. Rose chuckles on your lap:

\- Ah, it seems to me you have disappointed our new friend here by not answering with a four-page essay about the quality of his much beloved grand relic. What bad impression you’re making here! Where are your manners?

She holds out a perfectly painted hand:

\- Greetings. My name is Rose Elizabeth Scheherazade Lilith Margaret Lalonde. Most pleased to meet you.

The kid doesn’t hesitate and immediately gives her a high-five:

\- My name’s Snoop Dogg the Third. But you can call me Dave if you’re into this shit.

John laughs like it’s the funniest thing he’s ever heard:

\- See! I told you!

You don’t know who he’s addressing exactly, but looking at Rose and Dave, you can almost see the sparks in the air as they look at each other. Rose has a sly smile on her face, pointy like a fox, while Dave keeps a perfectly straight face (and that’s kind of impressing! You’re impressed.)

John sits on your left, Dave pulls out a chair and sits in front of you, Rose is still warm on your lap.

You don’t know if the others feel what you feel then – the rightness of you four kids, sitting in the middle of nowhere, and looking into each other’s eyes. You don’t dare to ask. You just keep it close close close to your heart, and you smile.


	3. Chapter 3

***

You have three friends, and they’re great. John’s your brother-in-crime and the one you cook your first whole dinner with during movie night. Dave rings at your door one evening, and you two aren’t really close yet, but he gives you an old computer of his to show you the world on the whole wide web. Rose takes you to a pond to the east of town, and you spend a good afternoon here, and then she says in a quiet voice “I think I’m a bad person” and you hold her, wet hair and everything, and comfort her: she’s good, she’s smart, she’s capable, it’s ok if it’s hard for her to trust people, you trust her, she’s loved.

You do love them. You said it: they’re great friends.

Grandpa’s here for you, rifles and plants and memories of glorious adventures all the same. Bec watches over you as always. Everything is ready for you to take it, bite into it, ripe and juicy and full and _good_ , and it feels almost too nice to be true.

You dream of Aradia Megido the Expl0rer congratulating you on your numerous journeys: you’re famous now, you have an airplane, the world’s still big, and you can’t wait to see more of it. It’s so nice of her to come by! You thank her, because she's a Star goddess, she should be thanked, she's greater than you in every sense of the word! She kisses you right on the lips, laughing, bright and hot like a star. What would Rose think of it? you wonder. I bet she’d love it, answers the goddess, and with a wink, you wake up.

It’s just that... Everybody’s here for you. Gods, everybody’s here for you!

And for a while, you’re gloriously happy.

***

You love John, you really do, but you never bring him to the altar. Rose and Dave are very close too, as close and you and John maybe, and you know that she won’t bring him here either. That’s something between Rose and you.

You don’t go as much as you used to. You’re thirteen. A taco place opens up north. Internet is a vast place. School bores you to tears. You think about the space seamstress, keeper of traditions, and how she made you think that rules were made to be broken and because of that you hold her in great respect; you still do, you realise, and you go to the Faith Station to leave her a small note, “hey, sorry for not praying to you very much, I still owe you, thank you”. You think about the boys in your class and how ugly they all are. You think about the robots your Grandpa helps you to sell to big companies now that Internet is a thing at home, the cuts you have on your fingers, the deep satisfaction you get when you look at a thing and you can say “it works, I made it work.” You think about Rose.

You think about Rose a lot.

***

The day you turn fourteen, it’s been heavily snowing for a week now. Everything is white and thick. You can’t recognise anything, and it’s good.

This year, you get three presents:

\- first from Grandpa: he’s waiting for you at the chimney when you wake up with hot chocolate, pumpkin cakes, and a warm fire. It’s the traditional birthday breakfast you always get (except he always adds something new, so you don’t grow bored. This year, it’s blueberry jam made with the berries you and him grew in the garden.)

The taste of berries and cakes, the warmth of the fire, makes you feel like you’re eight, and much to your surprise, it’s not a bad feeling. He eats with you and smiles all along. He looks so glad to see you. It makes you think that you and him do not share many meals anymore. You eat at school, or in your room while chatting on Messenger with your friends, or in the basement where the robots sleep, but not in the kitchen, not at 8 o clock.

You wonder if he’s sad about it. You wonder if he feels lonely. You don’t feel lonely – not anymore – but the thought that you may have given him your loneliness isn’t a nice thought. You secretly swear to spend more time with him from now on.

He and Bec’s gifts are a brand new rifle, shiny red shoes, books on nuclear physics, and a fun Inspector Gadget kit where you can create your own gadgetry, of which you immediately take a picture to send to John, who’s going to be so jealous! Then, you eat more pumpkin cake, and things feel right.

\- second from John and Dave: John can’t be there today, because he lives far away from town, but he still sent you a present – a huge sack of pumpkin seeds, the infamous _Ghost Rider_ movie (original edition) that you saw on your first movie night, and a long letter you read over and over again, just because you can.

Dave also can’t be there, because his brother’s weird. The things he tells you about this man make you uneasy for some reason. You think Rose knows more about it than you do, but it wouldn’t be polite to insist on that kind of stuff. Still, like John, he sent you a present, carefully wrapped in Hello Kitty paper: you can’t really believe your eyes when you get an actual bass out of the box – fuck, Dave, it’s not a cheap gift, _why are you like this_ , Dave, really?

He wrote a letter, too, and it’s short and awkward, but it’s sweet (except the part where he mentions he paid for the bass with the money his brother makes in the porn industry, and you’re not a prude, but Dave, that’s weird, sorry), and like John’s, you pin it above your bed. You immediately write them on Messenger to tell them they’re idiots, but lovable idiots. John sends you a wink. Dave sends you a heart.

\- third and last from Rose:

she comes to your home for the night. You play _Just Dance_ , make pasta, build an army of snowmen in the backyard. She hits you in the head with a devilishly well aimed snowball, and as you’re flailing on your back in the snow, she laughs, and laughs, and gets on top of you to press the tiniest kiss on your runny nose.

You don’t know what to say, so you kiss her back on the nose. Her cheeks are flushed pink. That’s when you realise Rose is very pretty, even if she’s just danced for three hours on _Rasputin_ by Boney M and smells like a dead horse.

She wakes you in the middle of the night:

\- Hey. Look.

You emerge from sleep to look at a dimly lit phone screen. Rose, in her ironic Disney pyjamas, has made herself comfortable between the mountains of tentacled plushies you keep on your bed. She whispers:

\- It’s, um. I wrote it. It’s for you. I. Yeah.

She’s close to you. Her hair looks like it’s radiating light in the blue darkness, and her soft pink pyjamas, the fingers she keeps gnawing at, makes her look like you’re dreaming her up. Maybe you are? You dream a lot about her.

You get back to the phone screen, the text in small black font, where you read slowly:

 _There are things that do not begin_  
And ours is not one of these, dear  
A wave and a bird are not so different  
When they look at us to think  
And repeat to the stars, who told the moon,  
Who told Fire, who told Death,  
Who told every garden where we might be  
I like the harmonies.  
  
It’s a loud bell, and it’s a tooth.  
It’s a music I can’t play aloud.

 _All of your shadows look bright to me._  
Woven into the fabric of light, love  
You are a wave, moving. You are blossoms. You are souls. You are all the flowers I’ve ever put in my hair.

_Bite into my heart. Let it begin.  
I say, let it begin._

Rose isn’t looking at you. You’re looking at her, though.

\- It’s very pretty, you say.

She smiles, tentatively, but her eyes are still locked to the mattress.

When you wake up the next morning, she’s in your arms, round and warm, hair splayed under her head like a crown. It’s still snowing. The bed frame casts pale blue shadows all over the room. In the corner by the window, a red figure watches you with soft eyes. You blink. You don’t have your glasses on.

Bah. Why bother.

You close your eyes again, and you fall back asleep with the smell of Rose’s smudged makeup on your pillows.

***

Not to be rude or anything, but summer is a pain in the ass, and yeah, you totally mean that! Sure, it means school’s over, and that’s a relief – but also, have you heard about that thing called heat waves that make you unable to think or breathe or live? Dave’s favourite season is summer. John says that’s why he’s so freaking dumb – the heat fried his brain inside his skull and now he’s just a cool and handsome wrapper for one tasty fried Brain Bar.

If you weren’t so attached to facts and science, you’d probably love this theory. Now you just like it a whole lot. Sorry, John! Better luck next time!

After a couple of hours spent browsing bad magazines you bought at the store down the mayor’s office outside your house, Rose and you decided that was enough normal teenager behaviour-ing for the day, and the only other reasonable thing to do was to go to Aradia’s altar and read the same exact magazines, but while praying to a god, so, that was underground enough.

As soon as you go through the garden’s gate, you spot Bec’s big white ears perking out of the grass. You immediately whistle:

\- Nah, boy, you don’t need to follow us! Go check on Grandpa, stay hydrated, don’t go in the sun too much. We’ve got what we need! Look, I have a big hat on, Rose too, and we have water and – we’ll be fine! Don’t worry!

Bec wags his tail in disbelief. He’s obviously not happy with that order. You feel like he’s getting harder and harder to bargain with. He used to be so sweet! Maybe you should try other methods of persuasion. You put on a special bright green reminder on your middle finger so that you don’t forget to look up “how to convince your dog to let you go out alone without slapping him with a big radioactive beef-steak”.

But for now, you have to whistle very impatiently for nearly thirty seconds before he finally caves in and goes back to the house, noticeably upset you’re not happy with his services. Bah! He’ll get over it.

\- If Dave was here, he’ll tell you it’s time for you to do what needs to be done with that beast behind the tool shack, comments Rose as you both start to get down the garden.

\- Dave doesn’t know the slightest thing about this wonderful boy, and family, and love, and anyway he’s a dumbass, so if he was here I wouldn’t listen to him and keep walking like I’m doing right now!

It takes you forty full minutes to get to the altar, but most of the walk happens beneath the shade of the trees, so when you do get there you’re barely sweating at all.

\- We’ll get ice cream when we get back, says Rose absentmindedly.

She gets a large black towel from her bag and puts it on the grass, before laying on it with evident satisfaction. You take your own towel (it’s old Squiddles fan merch, from before the studio burnt down. You really miss this show!) and lay it next to Rose, who is half-eyeing you, half-looking for her crosswords.

\- You’re not wearing a bra, she notices suddenly.

You shrug:

\- It’s too hot for that!

Rose makes a tiny smile you can’t really read. You can see the faint outline of black lace under her white shirt. Suddenly, you feel very inadequate, almost brutish next to her – a feeling you had not felt in years, and had not particularly missed either.

Shame makes you want to shrink yourself. You pull on your shirt and turn away from her in an attempt to cover yourself up.

\- Sorry if that’s weird, you say, trying not to sound too dumb.

But Rose shakes her head:

\- No, it’s ok. You’re right, it’s really hot. You look much less sweaty than I am.

She scoots closer to you, and suddenly, you feel the cool tips of her fingers ghost on your skin. Her touch makes the hair of your arms raise up.

Her fingers trail up from your hip to your chest. She reaches the beginning of the curve of your breast. Her nails slightly graze your skin and deep in your stomach, something stirs. You try to joke your way out of it:

\- Wow, lady, please refrain yourself! We are in the presence of divinities as old as the world itself! Let’s not get carried away!

Rose rolls her eyes, but lowers her hand, which is kind of a relief, you guess? Probably.

\- Oh, I’m certain she’s seen worse, if she’s been around for so long.

You plop on your own towel and cross your arms under your head, trying to look cool and detached:

\- How many people do you think did it in temples?

\- More than you’d think. I made some research on this particular topic for school. You’d be baffled by how many people saw these alien-looking celestial beings and found themselves to be surprisingly warm under the toga.

\- You always pick the weirdest exposé topics.

\- It was _interesting_. Almost all cults have a non-virginal branch. That’s a remarkable feature that sheds light on some sides of human nature we should get more interested in.

\- Are you talking about sex? Like, you think we, as a species, haven’t thought about sex enough? We, humans, haven’t gone far enough for you? Is that what you’re saying?

Rose winces and laughs at the same time:

\- It feels like you’ve seen things you shouldn’t have been aware of! Can you please spare me from this Freudian fever-dream and let me go unharmed, innocence still intact?

You stick your tongue out:

\- You started it! Plus, you always tell the goriest bloodiest sex-fulliest stories. It’s only fair! I should tell you allll about what Dave showed me the other day, that’ll teach you!

\- I didn’t start it! You’re the one who started worrying about offending Aradia’s definitely-non-chaste eyes. I had to step up my game! I had no choice!

\- Will you stop your slandering! Aradia is big and pure and I love her. Don’t treat her like this!

\- But have you truly looked at her? Isn’t anything worth noticing about her? Think about it...

She pucks her lips and presses her tiny chest between her hands:

\- She’s got them massive tiddies!

You choke on air.

\- ROSE!, you howl, then burst in a fit of laughter.

\- I’m pretty sure that’s not how you’re supposed to talk about a goddess!, you manage to say once you’ve calmed down.

\- Don’t you think it’s true, though?

\- No, that’s not what I meant! I’m not putting her boob game in question, that’d be rude of me. I just think she deserves better than “massive tiddies”, especially coming from you!

Rose takes on an offended expression:

\- Is this a twisted way to mock my lack of mass in the chest area?

\- Your chest area is just fine. Aren’t you a writer, miss funny-big-words? Is “massive tiddies” really the best you can get our beautiful beautiful goddess?

Rose nods with fake gravity, the ghost of her smile not leaving the corner of her lips:

\- You’re right. I was foolish. I should have been more respectful. How am I going to make up for it?

\- Oh, you’re in trouble for sure!

You fake shivering, and look up at the trees:

\- I can almost feel her rage! Oh, the pain, the pain! It is too much to bear!

Rose immediately starts chanting:

\- Oh, Aradia, goddess of my heart, light of my loins, I am utterly sorry. My impertinence cannot be forgiven so easily, this I know, but I beg you for mercy, radiant being. We say, blissfully ignorant, “this is true beauty” – but what fools are we, for what beauty is lies barely hidden beneath the fabric of your cloak! A thousand diamonds, a thousand sunsets, a thousand...

\- Rainbows?

\- A thousand rainbows could simply not compare to the glory, the softness, the full vibrancy of your two perfect, round, extremely suckable bosoms. Oh, rage! Oh, despair! I dive in the works of masters of animation, desperately looking at a crowd of oiled-up seducing young females, but ah! None of their shiny flesh balloons can melt my loins and ignite my mouth the way yours do.

You laugh, but there’s something a bit too heavy on her face, in her tone, that makes your happiness slightly affected. It looks... Well. Rose looks oddly sincere for such a joke. And it’s still a bit sour inside, so – yeah, well, you don’t really like it.

You don’t know why you’re feeling like this, though – probably because you’re dumb.

Rose, however, keeps on going. She’s adopted a dramatic pose, with a hand on her heart, and is almost completely laying on you now, one scrawny leg up in the air in a perfect theatre-kid nerdy fashion:

\- Will I drown here, surrounded by poorly rendered 180p wide moaning teenagers? Or will you come and save me from this dark place, with two round beacons of light in the deepest of darknesses, like twin suns leaking out for me in the shadows?

She then winks in an exaggerated fashion:

\- I said “leaking out”, but that was a subtle pun – as it should have been “looking out”, and not “leaking”. See, prose comes naturally to me.

You grimace:

\- Wow! Well, that was bad. Sorry about that, Rose, but it sucked! No pun intended.

Rose nudges you playfully, hot skin against hot skin, and you try to ignore the funny feeling in your stomach, the one that makes you feel like you’re doing multiple back flips in a row:

\- Are you saying you wouldn’t want to spend some quality time with Aradia’s enchanting perky golden breasts? Discover the Expl0rer’s unknown valleys? Conquer Death in every sense of the word? Is that what you’re saying?

\- You’re spending too much time with Dave. He’s contamined you with his sexual innuendos and stuff!

\- Contaminated, and I don’t see what you’re talking about. I am just in awe in front of our beloved childhood goddess’ brilliant tits, just like you told me to be.

\- But I don’t _want_ to think about my beloved childhood goddess’ brilliant tits! And I sure don’t want to hear you describe them like this!

Rose gasps:

\- What do I hear? Blasphemy! Treason! Jade! How could you say such a thing?

You shrug and wave your hands, trying to explain something that is almost too vague for you to even think about:

\- No, it’s not – I just don’t think it’s appropriate for us! She’s so much better than us, and bigger, and divine-er, and it feels wrong to – like, worship her like this? It just feels wrong to me! I don’t want to be sexually attracted to a goddess! I don’t want to make it weird! She’s cool and inspiring but – maybe she has beautiful boobs, ok? And like, that’s funny to think about! But I also don’t want to openly think about them! It’s – it’s – like, not without permission first, because it’s selfish, and creepy, and I don’t want to be that creepy girl in the woods that everyone’s mildly disgusted of and lives alone, and I –

Horror dawns on you as you realise you’re ranting, and Rose is looking at you now, all quiet and weird after her silly little rant, and _gods, why are you like this?_ It was supposed to be a joke! A joke you started! Why are you freaking out right now? You’ve ruined everything! Fucking crybaby out here talking about her dumb problems, dumb, dumb, fucking IDIOT -

\- AAAAAARGH – FUCK! you yell, then kick one of the altar steps, which does nothing good to better your mood, fuck, why are you freaking out right now?!

\- Jade, Rose starts, but you cut her right here:

\- No! I don’t need your comfort right now! I’ll get over it! I have to! It’s stupid! I’m stupid! I’m the stupidest slowest dumbest of all of you and I need to get a grip and stop making it weird! Gods damn it – I don’t want to make anything weird! It was a joke – I’m –

\- You’re not making this weird. I’m sorry if that made you uncomfortable. I won’t talk about it again. Jade –

You breathe deeply by the nose, but anger’s grip on you is too strong, and you try, you want to be cheerful, not a godsdamn failure, act normal for once, but –

\- But you don’t understand! You’re so – cool and beautiful and everyone here’s so cool and beautiful and – you’re hanging out with me! Look at what I’m doing right now? What the fuck, Rose? What the fuck! ARGH! I –

Rose slaps you.

Your glasses fly away and it takes you a while before you can figure where Rose’s eyes are on her face, but when you do, you try to send her the most incomprehensive look you’ve ever made. She does not look impressed. Maybe a bit angry. Maybe a bit sad.

\- Jade. I am not afraid of you. I am not disgusted by you. I will never be any of these things. I like you. You’re my best friend. I like you, Jade. Nothing will ever make this weird. Do you understand?

You gulp, and try not to think too much about the way your eyes start to sting:

\- I’m sorry.

\- No. I’m sorry. I’m sorry, Jade. I shouldn’t have hit you. I’m sorry. I know how hard it is for you sometimes – I’m sorry. That wasn’t the right way. I’m sorry.

\- I’m sorry, Rose. I shouldn’t have said –

\- It’s all right. Are we –

She takes a sharp, funny breath, something so very unlike her:

\- Are we still friends?

You consider her for a moment:

\- Do you want us to be?

For a brief, heart wrenching second, he doesn’t say anything:

\- How are you so nice? she eventually whispers.

\- I –

\- I slapped you. I hit you. Jade. I want to be whatever you want us to be.

You chew on your lower lip. The air is heavy, and green shadows move on Rose’s white hair, her thin features:

\- Friends... Friends are good for now. Friends means a lot to me. I don’t want to make –

Rose cuts you with a smile:

\- If friends suits you, it suits me as well.

Then, she opens her arms, awkward and gangly, so far away from the refined lady she pretends to be so people will finally finally _finally_ take her seriously – she’s young like you, uncomfortable like you, learning, like you.

You hug her fiercely and you feel her shudder against you. She disappears between your arms. She’s so small, compared to you. Sweat and lavender deodorant stick to your skin like a spider’s web. Your cheek still stings. You don’t know what you think about it. It’s all so complicated. So complicated.

Though this, here. That feels simple.

You both stay like this for a while.


	4. Chapter 4

When Grandpa dies, you bury him in the back of the house, in the garden, past the well and the washing line, at the edge of the forest where trees watch over the grass.

It’s Dave who comes to help. You were not expecting it. You sent everyone a message the morning you found the lifeless figure slumped in his favourite chair, by the chimney – and you weren’t crying yet, so you told everyone “grandpa died”, and then, you got to work. The body had started to smell.

Dave rang twenty minutes later. You found him with bed hair and a big red scarf around his runny nose. His skin was as pale as the morning sky. It was around 6 in the morning. You’d woken up because Bec had known something was wrong. You’d known, too, so, you weren’t crying.

Dave doesn’t speak. You go together to your grandpa’s tool shack, where he keeps all the gardening stuff, and open the old wooden door with some difficulty, because dew froze it in place during the night. You easily find two shovels. Dave gets one, you take the other.

You take him up the hill. You go past the well where Grandpa left his gardening boots two nights before, and past the washing line, where clothes are still hanging to dry because you forgot to bring them in. Then you see the trees, and you scan the soft ground before you see a nice-looking spot, where, if your memory serves, the sun always shines during springtime, when it’s sunny anyway.

You both start digging.

At no point does Dave tell you that you should call someone, or that it’s illegal, or that he’s sorry for you. He takes the scarf off as the sun rises and makes your work more difficult. Sweat beads at the edges of his shades. The forest ahead of you is buzzing with quiet life, singing birds and the likes.

You don’t cry. You don’t ask yourself why Dave’s here, why only him, why he got up so early, why he’s not saying anything about any of this. You don’t resent him for this.

It takes you all morning to dig a hole that’s big enough. By the end of it, you’re both covered in grass and dirt and sweat, shin deep in freezing mud. Dave does not complain. He helps you get out of the hole, then climbs out as well.

The morning wind takes you both by surprise – not warm but not cold either, biting slightly at your skin, full of sunwarmed dust. You close your eyes and for a wonderful, wonderful moment, you feel as if you’re dreaming, and you’re going to wake up.

Dave shakes you very gently. You open your eyes. You’re not crying.

You both go back to the house and clean yourselves before you carry the body outside. The weight of it is unlike anything you’ve ever held. Bec helps by carrying it from below; you’ve got the arms; Dave’s got the legs. Your grandpa’s skin is cold and slightly dusty when you brush his cheek. It’s not a good feeling.

You remember – back when he had a long, long beard, he’d sit by your bed to kiss you goodnight and tell you stories about the sand trader, and that if you gave him sun dust or moon dust or star dust you’d get wonderful dreams. You’d pull on the beard and he’d laugh, pretend to be mad, say he wouldn’t give you any dust tonight so the sand trader wouldn’t make you dream.

The hair of his beard is now shorter and more nicely trimmed, still a bit glossy due to the mint cream he uses to style it. It’s rough under the skin of your fingers. You’re afraid to pull on it, and so you brush it with all the delicacy you have, like a small animal, so scared to hurt him somehow. It makes you feel like you’re five again.

He doesn’t move. One of his eyes is slightly open – the left one – and you can see the wooden beams of the ceiling drifting by as you carry him from one room to the other.

It’s hard to get him up the hill.

Dave and you stay by the edge of the hole for longer than necessary, slightly uncertain, as the wind gets warmer and warmer. Grandpa’s vest brushes your wrists with every gust.

\- Do you think it’ll be deep enough? he finally asks.

\- I’m not sure.

\- Foxes and shit might come and dig him out. Are you ok with this?

Dave is practical. He lets you think about it for a while before answering:

\- It’s ok. He’ll be glad to know he’s illegally fed wildlife once again.

\- You might have to bury him back. He might get torn up. This is going to be rough, even for you.

You don’t answer this. He adds quietly:

\- I’ll be there if it happens.

\- Thanks.

You lower your grandpa in the hole as carefully as you can. Once he’s settled there, you get up, and you realise how small he looks. Dave is almost as tall as he is. It’s weird, because Dave seems of normal height to you; but in your mind Grandpa’s always been large and powerful, full of laughter and energy, and much, much taller than you. Maybe it’s because of the way the clothes stay still around him. Maybe it’s because of this fucking stupid open left eye.

You’re going to have to bury him now.

Dave helps you raise your shovel. His hands are very thin, thinner than yours, paler but not pale, and he’s shaking ever so slightly. Has he ever buried anyone? You know so little about Dave’s past. He’s always so secretive about it. Does he know about death? Does he know how you feel when you realise you’re never – gods, you’re never going to see him again – gods, please, no –

Dirt and grass start covering his face. You want to scream at it – it’s in his moustache, it’s in his hair, and he hates it when it gets dirty, someone get that dirt off of him – but Dave helps you again, hands a bit firmer this time, and – and you know, you know it’s what you have to do, but – gods, no, no; you want to see him again; you want to hear him breathe and you want to smell the smell of his pipe and the cakes he sometimes bake and everything, everything else; gods, please, someone make your grandpa visible again.

It’s faster to fill in the hole than dig it up. By the time you’re over, nothing really makes sense to you now. It’s Dave again who takes the shovel out of your hands, carefully stomps on the fresh dirt so it evens out, takes you by the arm and says “let’s go, let’s go”.

That’s how you reach the house’s door. He’s so careful with you. You never thought that’s the way it would be. Dave being so gentle. The door left wide open. Cut grass on your hands, unforgivable smell. His wardrobe still full. What are you going to do with all of this?

\- What am I going to do with all of this? you say, out loud in the living room.

He’s never going to wear that shirt you cleaned last day.

Still, still – maybe that’s hate you feel, maybe that’s just nothing, a big fat nothing – still, you’re not crying.

Grandpa died in November.

***

You wait for someone to come take you away.

You read on the Internet that that was what they did. After all, you have money that you inherited from him after you declared him dead; there’s the house, and the yard, and it’s worth something too; and you’re not of age to take care of it all, so someone must take care of it for you. You should go away. Someone should take you away.

December goes by. John makes you pumpkin cakes for your birthday. Dave and Rose participated too and all three of them greet you at the chimney when you wake up. You pretend you’re not crying, but you are, for the first time in what feels like multiple eternities. It’s a relief. It’s very tiring, too.

No one comes for you.

For Christmas, it’s a bit special. Rose decides you should all go to her house. You don’t know why she suddenly changed her mind about the nobody-can-see-my-personal-life-mess rule, but you still accept.

It’s a quiet night. You watch movies in her living room, fall asleep on the old mattresses you’ve taken from the attic. You exchange gifts with each other the next morning (Dave pretends not to like the really cool earmuffs you made him but who is he kidding, they’re _awesome_ , and play music too, so!), and laugh when Rose discovers a stack of fancy, expensive old books she’s desperately wanted for months under the Christmas tree – from her mother, which is both a good thing and a sad thing.

No one comes for you.

Then it’s January. New Years is spent at Rose’s again. You all drink beers for the first time and go to sleep immediately after the countdown, completely,irrevocably _smashed_ , though you’ve spent a great evening playing video games and eating fancy fish, so you don’t really regret anything.

You had to bury Grandpa back three times by now. The last time he didn’t look like him anymore. Dave helped, because he promised. It was still enough to make you puke in a corner. No one’s here to cut wood anymore for the chimney, so you do it yourself. You get tall and big. Your hands are rough. Your nails are short. Sometimes, you think Grandpa would be proud of you. Sometimes, you think he’d be sad.

You have to pay bills. It’s hard to save money. You sell the things you don’t need any more. You close some rooms you don’t go in so you don’t have to clean them. You still build robots. You don’t cry, because you can’t be weak. You just can’t.

No one comes for you. You don’t cry.

By the end of winter, after February’s dark months, after the cold and the bitter taste of air outside, grass is green again. It’s spring. No one ever came by. You don’t know what happened. You don’t know why they left you here in this small stupid town by the woods in the middle of nowhere. Rose prayed for you to stay. She hung unto you like a shell to a rock in the middle of the storm and prayed to every god she knew that you’d stay. Maybe she made a deal. Maybe she made you stay. You don’t know if that’s what you wanted.

No one’s here for you. You’re still there.

By the end of winter, you said, you’re not waiting anymore.

***

Rose tied up her short white hair into the silliest ponytail you’ve ever seen, but it still suits her, in an odd fairy way, kind of like an anime character maybe – you often joke about how her and Dave are obviously the main characters in the big story you all live in, and how they’re going to get decapitated or something at some point, but when she does this kind of thing, the small silly ponytail thing, well, it looks almost plausible.

\- I mean, I’m not saying I want you to get headless all of a sudden –

\- My, Jade, what a relief!

\- – but you gotta admit, you’re kind of asking for it!

\- What kind of absurd hairshaming is this? I can wear my hair the way I want! I’m not the one you should put the blame on if a madperson suddenly sprung out of the bushes and swung a big awe at my defenceless neck!

\- Well, I’m just saying, you should be careful! Some people might take it as an invitation or something!

\- An invitation to pop my head off my shoulders? Exactly what kind of people do you think I see on a daily basis?

You laugh with her as you’re walking down the path to the altar. It’s easy to laugh with Rose – not as easy as with John, or maybe just a different kind of easy, the easiness that comes with years and years of affection and knowledge and tenderness. You’ve basically shared everything with her. So you can laugh.

\- Don’t say I didn’t warn you both! I won’t always be here to help, you know!

\- Ah, don’t say that, it’s mean and cruel!

You’re about to reply when something suddenly catches your attention, startling you the way it would, you’re sure, have startled a dog: hair of your back straight up, eyes wide open, tense muscles:

\- Wait.

You two are close to the altar now. You can smell it before you see it, the heavy, heady smoke of burning incense, full of burnt roses and spices turning the small clearing into a world of its own under the trees. The realisation is almost enough to make your head spin:

\- There are people here.

You can’t see the altar – you’re not in the clearing yet, bushes are blocking your view – and you should try to take a look, maybe right up around the oak trees here, but something makes you stand still, a feeling low in your guts, deep and red and warm. You take an unnecessary breath. The smoke weights heavy in the air.

Rose slowly raises her hand. You want to warn her, suddenly, tell her not to do it – but why? And then you catch a glimpse of her eyes, and you think, _“she knows she shouldn’t”._ But Rose’s curious. Rose wants to know things. That’s how Rose is, silly, silly Rose, always looking for more – you can’t blame her, can you? Can you?

You can’t stop her.

She turns towards you ever so slightly, licks her lips, and nods.

You keep your mouth shut. Rose, with great delicacy, parts the leaves from the trees and reveals what was hidden.

Your heart stutters and you suddenly feel yourself blush harder than you’ve ever had, heat pooling in your cheeks and belly.

One of the women is laying flat on her back. Her legs are two brown parentheses around the other’s head, flashing emerald with the leaves. She holds the incense in one hand; you can see flowers in the other, shaking with the rhythm of their thrusting. She wears a reddish mask without eyeholes: two great horns spiral around her skull.

Now that you see them you also hear the sound they make. They’re enthusiastically vocal. It may be in your head, or because of the smoke, but it feels like their moans echo through the trees, coming from behind and beyond you at the same time.

They haven’t seen you, and you wonder why you haven’t felt the need to run away yet.

Rose too is frozen in place, her eyes wide open and her hand holding the branches. You can see a bright pink flush high above her cheeks in two tiny patches, quasi fever like. Her breath is warm. You almost jump when she whispers:

\- We should go.

She looks at you. It’s like the heat makes you think more slowly, stuck in cotton candy, in warm, thick water – gods, it’s so hot outside, was it so hot before that you couldn’t really think of anything to say –

Times seems to stretch for a while and suddenly, you’re hyper aware of the slow sounds of sex in the background, the cries of the cicadas, and how close to you Rose is, her sweet sugary smell, and she’s still looking at you, deep black eyes, shining green and gold – so close, and it’s still so warm, the air solid like a blanket, when did it get so warm?

\- We should.

None of you make a move.

You watch as the woman’s voice gets progressively louder and louder, her body moving like a snake on the steps of the altar. The other one’s practically purring. Her inaudible whispers brush lightly against your ears and you can feel your legs turn to jelly.

Rose’s presence makes your heart beat so fast, gods, you can’t believe it. She’s just standing so close to you. All of your senses are over-stimulated. Things are too bright, too loud, too heavy. If she were to touch you right now you’d probably die on the spot.

You kind of really want her to. How would she react? What would she do? You consider it – just raising your hand and just brushing against her, something she could think was not planned, just an accident – but it could also, fuck, gods, what are you thinking about?

The woman on the steps suddenly cries out in bliss, and you can feel a shiver run down your spine like a spider. Instinctively, you look up at the horns of the altar – but there are no red robes, no bright golden eyes. To your surprise, you’re actually truly disappointed.

The two women, however, do not seem disturbed by the lack of divine applause. As the one who just got eaten out leaves her flowers and incense on the steps, she gets hugged by the second one, and they cuddlefight for a while, laughing playfully, pushing each other like kids, before getting dressed again and leaving the clearing, hand in hand.

The second they’re gone, the spell breaks; your legs vibrate with energy and you feel the dumb but unbelievably strong need to _run away_.

Rose says:

\- Do you think they live in town?

\- I don’t know.

\- We could recognise them.

\- Yes.

\- I want to...

She doesn’t bother finishing her sentence. With slow, heavy movements, she steps out of the trees and walks towards the now deserted altar. She looks so frail compared to the two other enthusiastic women, so lost. You consider her white square hair, her white shirt, the hem of her skirt.

The smell of sex and incense hits you again. People fucked right here, you think, right on the steps of the altar you two kept secret for so long. It’s a childhood place. You two could have walked on them at age ten. How did you never see any of it?

You look at Rose in front of the old burgundy wood. People fucked right here, where she’s walking right now. It’s sacred ground. The goddess might have watched. She might want more. Gods, what the fuck are you even thinking about.

Your vision gets kind of blurry for a second. Rose crouches, black skirt neatly tucked under her scrawny knees, and – fuck – you can see her fingers brush again the wood of the steps, right where the women were, deliberately slow, inspecting, almost; there’s something scientifically cold in her actions, but the heat stirs again in your belly and chest and gods, you want her on your lap so bad right now.

Rose turns her head ever so slightly. Her heavy white fringe covers her eyebrows, and her eyes peer out from underneath it. She’s looking straight at you: and with that, she raises her fingers to her lips, darts a small, lizard-pink tongue, and licks her skin clean.

You watch her do from afar. She looks like a figure straight from a dream, blurry around the edges, but also impossibly clear details: the chipped nail polish on her left thumb, the light in her dark irises. She’s got something of the snake – the teeth, maybe; the slow curves; the eyes that never blink.

She licks her palm again, and you’re completely hypnotised. The thought comes to you she could do anything to you right now, and you probably wouldn’t be able to say no. Maybe you wouldn’t want to say no.

Without breaking eye contact, she gets up and walks back to you. Her steps are measured and confident. Your breathing becomes ragged until she’s close, at which point you’re barely breathing at all.

Rose looks at you intently:

\- I was thinking about you, she says.

Her lips are shining. Fuck. You honestly don’t know how to answer this. She looks so grave, holding her head straight like a queen would – and then, she holds out her hand, extends her fingers:

\- Do it, too.

You look at her at search for any hint of a smile, a joke, a “Rose, did I really hear what I think I’ve heard?”– but she nods, “yes, I am well aware of what I’ve just said.”

The air suddenly gets very heavy around you. You barely repress a high-pitched desperate little moan, and bite your lower lip instead, more ferocious than necessary. She looks at you expressionless; and you know, you know that if you didn’t want to, you could simply walk away; there are consequences at stake but you’re also friends, you’ve always been; she’s Rose, regal, glacial Rose, the best one, the one in charge, but she loves you

so

she’d let you go.

Gods. You so don’t want to.

Hands crossed in your back, you tentatively close the distance between your mouth and her hand, and slowly, slowly, press your tongue, then your lips against the warm slick skin.

You can’t pretend you don’t feel Rose shudder, from the tip of her toes to the top of her head. You close your eyes and your tongue brushes against phalanges, dives in the wet hollow between her fingers. You taste dirt, salt, sweat. Rose’s hand stays perfectly firm and you can press your whole mouth against it, feel the warmth of your own breath on your cheeks. You allow yourself to think, _“gods, it feels so good when someone else takes the wheel”_ , and for the first time in forever you actually feel relaxed, because you trust Rose with your life, and she’d never do anything to hurt you; so Rose’s in charge now, and wow, you’re so, so, _absolutely so_ turned-on by that, it’s actually kind of a surprise.

You open your eyes again. Your glasses are a bit foggy, but you can see Rose’s clenched jaw from here. She holds herself like she’s worried she’s about to fall. Does that mean you’re doing ok? Or completely wrong? Did you misinterpret it? Did you _fuck up like you always do?_

You don’t doubt for very long, but Rose must feel it nonetheless, and with a faint, awkward smile, she shakes her head and quickly lowers her hand to wipe it against her skirt:

\- Um. I mean. How was it?

You blink very fast. Your lungs suddenly fill up with air, your vision clears, the heavy wet weight on your shoulders vanishes. It’s almost like you’d been underwater this whole time and had just passed the surface again.

\- Bitter, you answer after a while.

Rose nods again. Your heart pounds wildly in your chest with something very close to absolute disappointment. Much to your horror, you realise you might break down in tears any second now. You’re so fucking disappointed. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

\- Yes. My thoughts exactly. Glad this is settled.

She then eyes your lips, your hands, your flushed face, and offers you a faint hollow smile again:

\- Don’t worry about it, big girl. Come on, now. Let’s go.

You don’t know how to answer that, so you just do as she says.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Woops, sorry for the huge delay! I'm still writing this and am intending to finish it, it might just take me some time, and I'm sorry about that. Hope you're doing ok !!

You don’t often go to John’s house, because of all of you kids he’s the one who lives the furthest away from town. Dave’s a close call (mostly because his shitty small flat is, well, shitty and small, and anyway none of you really like his bro for some reason), then followed by Rose’s. Usually, when you decide to meet up together, you go to your house. But this time, John insisted; plus, he’s got a pool, and his father’s been dying to meet you all properly, and he said he could drive you all, and it’s the end of the year, like, guys, come on!

In the end, you don’t really have a choice. The day before your final exam, you get a text from John saying something like “hey, my dad will pick us up right after we finish, so pack your bags for a fun day at your boy’s house tomorrow!!! :D”

You consider your options. You’ve not been invited anywhere else, and Dave neither (he’s not very popular anyway, because people think he’s creepy, when he’s simply cooler than them). He’s also been avoiding going back home these past few weeks, and often crashes here “for the night” (although he never tells you why. You’d like it if he did, because you worry so much about him, but it’s Dave you’re talking about, and well, Dave never tells much to anyone. So you just opened a room for him and let him have his space and made a couple of jokes about having to pay rent, and, yeah), so you suppose he will accept John’s invitation.

Will Rose come too? She has some friends outside of your small group, girls in her creative writing class, you know, clever, bright, snarky girls like her. They might throw a party too. You bite your lower lip pensively. You’re not sure to go if Rose’s isn’t here. Maybe it’ll do Dave some good to spend a nice night alone with his best friend. He needs his own space, but you know he also needs someone to make him talk, and while John can be a bit dense when it comes to emotions and misery, you also know he’ll listen if Dave wants to say something serious (at least, you hope so? John’s so oblivious sometimes).

Yeah. Maybe it’ll be better this way.

Fortunately, Rose puts an end to your internal dilemma by sending a message in the group chat: “Beta kids night it is, then. Do we need to bring anything special?”

 **S P A C E S E V E R Y WH E RE** _(John)_ **says** : swim suits, uuuuh sleeping bags, if you’re into that, and a big smile, of course!! :*

 **i-llu-mi-na-tiiii** _(Rose)_ **says** : But of course babe :*

 **Hot Stuff** _(Dave)_ **says** : dont mind us just staying there while you start up the orgy like yup thats a thing thats happening right now boy it sure is ahah what a story mark

 **a squäre** _(Jade)_ **says** : guys!! it’s literally 2 in the morning!! all of you just shut up!! we’ll say we love each other and stuff tomorrow morning!!!!

As a result, your phone blows up with notifications, and you bury it under one of your pillows in a failed attempt at getting mad at your dumb friends (but you can’t, ‘cause you love them).

The final exam isn’t as hard as you thought it’d be. Out of all of you, Rose gets the most stressed out about exams, even though she’s very quiet about it. You know she’ll do great, but you also know she truly believes she won’t, so you do your best to reassure her before it starts. You’re all good at sciences anyway: when you get out of the room, John’s already waiting for you, excitedly tapping his foot on the concrete. The other two follow soon enough, and ten minutes later, you’re all crammed into John’s dad’s car, being asked a ton of politely enthusiastic questions by said Dad (who seems like a really nice man! You guess at least one of you _had_ to get a decent parental figure).

You open the window. Rose’s head rests lightly on your shoulder. It smells like holidays, and when you breathe deep, you feel lighter than you’ve been in weeks.

* * *

You don’t really know when you’ve all decided to stop sitting on comfortable garden chairs and just pile on each other on the wooden floor next to the pool, but you definitely did, and looking at the night sky above you, you feel a bit light-headed, maybe because of the beers you’ve just drank, or because school’s over for now, or just because you’re cuddling with the people you love the most in the whole wide world and you don’t really have to worry about anything right now.

John has his head on your lap, while Rose’s is behind yours, white hair lost in your black wild mane. Dave’s resting on your left arm. Rose and him are having a “subtle” (emphasis on the quotes) feet/leg fight, and they’re all tangled up right now. You guess it _could_ be weird? But it doesn’t feel like it. You... Like that, the physical intimacy, the idea of safety while someone’s hand is touching you. The absence of fear. It’s good.  

John raises his hand and points to the stars:

\- See that weird diamond shaped constellation right there? That’s my sign, he says proudly. The Screaming Hands.

You squint, but can’t see anything really resembling a diamond, much less screaming hands.

\- What does it say about you? asks Rose in a fake concerned tone of voice.

John pretends not to care, or maybe he really doesn’t, because he happily answers:

\- I’m a great leader and I’m always ready to help people! I’m also really attractive.

\- You made that up.

\- I swear I didn’t! It’s in the official books and all. Sorry you got stuck with the old boring Torn Blindfold while I got stars that made my ass great.

Dave mutters something inaudible about the subjectivity of greatness when it comes to ass rating, but you shoosh him and ask:

\- How do you know all of this star stuff?

\- I had a cool telescope when I was a kid! I loved to watch the stars and think about the gods and aliens and things that lived out there. My dad got me one of these big maps you could draw on and like, the stars would light up at night, and you would put it on your ceiling and it was like you were sleeping outside, it was amazing!

\- Listen to Mr Rich Kid right here, says Dave before promptly getting his face squished under your hand (it’s hard to find his mouth in the dark, but you manage).

\- Hey, let John talk about his normal cool hobbies!

\- Yes, Dave, not everyone has to put dead pigeons in jars and call it art, some kids have normal childhoods, you know!

\- And great asses, adds Rose.

You fake a dreamy sigh:

\- John, you truly are the perfect guy.

You almost hear him wink:

\- Of course! All the ladies and gentlemen are swayed by my good looks, my mysterious aura and my charming mischeviality.

\- Mischievousness, corrects Rose absentmindedly.

\- Whatever, miss writer! I’m the dreamy one here and when I’ll be rich and loved and famous I’ll be able to use all the words I want and no one will ever tell me shit, because that’s what money does for you!

\- And great asses.

\- Okay, now I’m starting to regret mentioning my ass.

Dave manages to get rid of your hand and say:

\- Someone needed to break the taboo, shoot that weird-smelling gigantic elephant in the room. It’s only fair you’re the one who did it. Now I finally feel free to say, wow, John Egbert does have one magnificent pair of buttocks – and look, I said it, and no one feels weird about it! Can’t you feel a breeze of relief on our previously shame-covered heads? Don’t you want to stand up and look around you and feel in your heart that yes, it’s true, John’s got that ass that won’t quit, and no one should be blamed for thinking about it in filthy filthy ways?

\- Stop objectifying my bottom!

\- Don’t worry, John, you say with all the sincerity you can find, we won’t stop loving you when you get old and wrinkly and saggy.

\- Yeah, we’ll stay for the money instead, says Rose.

John laughs, a breezy, happy laugh:

\- I just want you guys to know that none of you are touching that ass treasure or getting money until we’re of appropriate age!

Rose laughs too:

\- John Egbert, you monstrous heartbreaker – Dave was telling me all about that wild gay sex he wanted to have in your kitchen, and now you say you want to keep your wonders for yourself! Shame on you, mister, for being so cruel. How is he going to survive knowing that he won’t get his hands on that brand quality meat tonight?

Your hand is still resting on Dave’s cheek, and you can feel the heat rise up under his skin as he bites his lips. Quickly, you add:

\- And I was only here so you’d submit to my puppy eyes and give me all the money I asked for! John, it’s been so nice hanging with you, but I think our friendship’s over now.

\- No, Jade, don’t go, your puppy eyes are fantastic, of course I’ll give you money!

\- Well, you’re lucky I had to sell one of my kidneys to get my return ticket and the company won’t give me a refund, otherwise I’d be packing my things now! I guess I’ll stay here for the next eight days like you offered, but I want you to know it’s not because of your dashing personality.

\- Aw, Jade, am I not your type? You said I was perfect!

\- That’s the problem, John, you’re too good for me.

\- You’re also a big ass nerd, says Dave.

John swats him on the back of the head:

\- I thought we were done with the ass talking!

\- We’ll never be done with the ass talking, answers Rose in a categorical tone of voice which earns her a smack on the leg.

She yelps and throws her hands around your waist in a faux distressed damsel fashion:

\- Jade, oh, darling, help me, that rich white kid wants to abuse of his privilege against me, an oppressed woman from a racial minority!

\- I’m Korean, you dummy! John replies, but he’s too busy giggling and trying to hit Rose to really be offended.

Quickly, everyone starts trying to smack each other in the dark. Rose is still pressed against you and you feel your breath on her hair as she screams and laughs like the kid she pretends not to be when Dave, the traitorous bastard, manages to catch her feet for John to tickle. She smells of cheap pomegranate shampoo. Her skin is hot, the night is warm.

You think about the woods. You think about all the stuff that could go wrong.

Then you decide that you _don’t fucking give a fuck_ , because hells, you want to be happy tonight, and you hold her tight against you and when she laughs you laugh with her.

You have to let her go when it’s time for you to boldly sacrifice yourself and launch Dave into John’s pool, but honestly, it was worth it.

* * *

She’s waiting for you in the kitchen, sitting on the countertop. Her feet are very white against the black wood of the table. She swings them lightly to the beat of the music in her head. The inside lights are out, but the pool is still lit up and you can hear John and Dave screaming dumb things at each other, the sound of water splashing, the echoes of their laughs. It makes you smile harder than you ever thought it would. Gods, you love your silly friends.

\- Hey, you tell her.

Rose smiles. It’s that tiny, round smile you like, almost sly, where she tilts her head so she looks at you beneath her long eyelashes, like she’s ready to tell you some big secret. It’s a good smile. You gesture at her so she doesn’t think you’re staring:

\- Aren’t you going in the pool?

\- I am, I was just waiting for you to come out so I could take my things in the bedroom.

Of course. Gods, you feel so stupid. You try to laugh to dissipate your awkwardness:

\- Sorry I kept you waiting.

\- No worries. I didn’t want to watch the boys compare their dumb nerdy boxers anyway, so being here was nice.

\- Don’t they have swimsuits on?

-Nope, they’re going in with their smelly Captain America underwear on like the wild animals they are, Rose says with a shake of her head.

You both giggle. Her hair makes a perfect white square in the darkness, and suddenly, you feel very weird standing here in your trunks and bra, like you’re so tiny and out of place. Rose’s all black and white, raw light and shadows made girl, and you’re just here, with your wet hair and dumb look, and you suddenly can’t breathe very well. Silence falls.

Things between Rose and you have been a bit... Tense, since that one time in the woods. Sometimes, you look at each other, and you can feel the burden of a thousand things that need to be said and done on your shoulders, things that you can’t even put a shape to yet, and are not sure Rose can either.

You could ask her... Oh, many things. You could ask her how she is. You could ask her what she’d like to do with you, to you, on you. You could ask her if she’d like to do anything in the first place. You could ask her why, gods, why you, if it’s some kind of cruel joke, if she’s even thought about the fact she deserves so much more than this. You could ask her out. You could ask her if she likes you.

Instead, you say:

\- I’m going outside.

She opens her mouth. Closes it. Opens it again:

\- All right. I’ll be quick.

You nod, and promptly get out of the kitchen, before you say anything useful.

The stars are bright outside – Aradia’s constellation look especially good this time of the year – and the wind is warm. The floor is wet under your feet: you can see the lights of the pool reflect lazily in the water, making blue snakes of light dance on your skin.

You blink a couple of times. From the other end of the pool, John gargles at the top of his lungs:

\- Jade! Come here and help me drown this bastard before he kills me!

The stars twinkle, as if to say, yes, you’re right, fuck this teenage drama shit, let’s be happy tonight.

\- Don’t worry, brother, I’m coming for you!

You hit the water and for the second time of the evening you decide to forget about being sad – and it works, even when Rose throws herself at all of you and perches herself on John’s shoulders to fight you and Dave, even when you hold her hands between yours in an attempt to take her down, and even when her hair gets in your eyes because you both fell at the same time and _you swear_ , you swear she was looking right at your lips – tonight, tonight, you won’t be sad.

The stars are bright, still, when you all go to sleep. You don’t forget to thank them, even though it’s silly, but... But yeah. You’re glad you can find comfort in them, even though they probably don’t care, so, you thank them. 

Later that night, deep in your dreams, you meet Aradia under water. Fish are hiding in her hair like in wild algae, and the blue light of John’s pool dances slowly on her skin. She could look dead, with her grey blue skin and black lips: but you’re not scared, because her eyes are very bright. She’s nodding in appreciation:

\- No worries, she says. I’ll always keep an eye on you.

You’re very flattered, but she goes away before you can thank her.

* * *

The semi-good thing about being alone at home now is that you can do whatever you want without worrying about anyone hearing you, Bec excluded, of course, but oh well, he’s a dog, after all, and anyway, he would never judge you, he loves you too much.

You’re lying on your stomach, comfortably tucked in your bed. Your computer’s open in front of you and your hand’s been hovering over the hem of your pants for quite some time now. You don’t always do that. High school is less stressful than middle school, less cruel; but you still associate, stupidly, all these things with the girls who loved to call you slurs and used you as a shield so no one would turn on them next.

Rose’s very educated about this: the problems of early sexuality with girls, the obligation to grow up too fast, a society made by men for men that pushes people to be afraid of their own femininity but at the same time, for female-presenting individuals, to embrace it wholeheartedly. “We’re all machos somewhere”, she said. You’re not sure you’re as clever as her, and you haven’t thought about it as much as she did: but you know now that these girls were afraid, and you were, too. So for a long time you refused to do any of this.

Now, things are... Different. You’ve grown up. You feel stuff. You have dreams. Rose’s here. Gods, you’ve tried, you’ve tried so hard to look at boys or other girls, but none of them is as wonderful as Rose.

You dream too much about her. Most of the time, it happens in the woods (of course), a place where no one will come and disturb you. Here, she ties you up to a tree, a branch, the altar, _anywhere_ (you think it means something, maybe. Um. Yeah.) and goes down on you, all powerful and glacial and Rose-like. She makes you come in seconds. You’re sure she would. You’re sure she would.

Sometimes it’s you who make her come. It’s maybe even better than when you’re tied up. You two have shared too many hugs and beds for you not to know how heavy she’d be in your hands and the way she’d open her mouth, squirm on the floor like a snake, get your hair between her hands and pull, pull hard until you do as she orders and fuck her properly.

Those are good ones, yeah.

Then there are those where Aradia’s here too. That’s where things get complicated. Yeah, maybe they’re the best. Maybe you like the idea of Aradia handling Rose handling you. Maybe you like it when Rose, so composed and poised, begs for release because Aradia’s a goddess and who can top a goddess? Even in these dreams you wouldn’t dare. You’re barely ok with dreaming about this in the first place. You mean, like – Aradia’s not even human. She’s a divine being. You’ve never even really met her (unless these eerie dream visits you sometimes have count? Probably not. You’d ask Rose about it if it wasn’t so weird) – it’s like having a crush on a fictional character, or a celebrity, or a... Cryptid or something: a bit sad, and pathetic.

But it’s _nice_.

So that’s why you’re here now, and you’ve opened a private window and searched for “expl0rer cult porn” and browsed through an incredibly small selection of videos (curse you for choosing such a forgotten god! Getting a crush on Karkat Vantas would have made all of this so much easier) and are now waiting for – what?

Yeah. What are you waiting for?

You press play on the video and put your headphones on.

The altar is much bigger than the one in your woods. There must be around ten people here, with plain dark red shirts on. Paint covers their eyes, but they’re all smiling widely and whispering, and the atmosphere is full of bubbly tension, electric enthusiasm. You feel the hair on your arms stand right up.

A woman finally goes to the altar. Her short blond hair falls straight between two great red horns. Apart from this headgear, she’s completely naked.

Heat pools in your stomach. Gods, you’re wet already.

The woman sits, and faces the camera, smiling. Her mask hides her eyes. She crosses her hands on her chest, and taps her fingers with a silly childish excitement that makes you smile – it’s kind of cute, thinking that they’re maybe going to really enjoy this. Man, you’re such a sap!

Then, two people go to the woman. They have the biggest strap-ons you’ve ever seen and you kind of choke on nothing – like, fuck, that’s probably stupid but you’re suddenly super scared they’re going to kill her – but it probably wouldn’t have been uploaded if they did... Right?

But they start; and they’re not gentle with her, but they’re not rough either: it’s more like... Earnestly into it? And the camera’s kind of shaky, this isn’t the most professional thing you’ve ever seen, that’s for sure: but that woman is doing a very fine job sucking on one of the two toys. You watch, fascinated, as her lips go around the shaft and curve around it, eyes fully closed and hands resting on her partner’s hips, tracing slow patterns on the skin.

The woman leaves red trails of lipstick on the toy as she bobs her head back. That’s kind of spellbinding.

Hypnotised, you barely notice the second person who’s been fumbling behind the woman suddenly grab her by the thighs and pull her close. The woman barely breaks contact with the other person: however, when you see the tip of the toy push past her labia, her scarlet lips form a perfect circle and even from that far you can hear her breathy moans. Around the camera, people exchange impressed whispers in a language you don’t understand.

In a minute, they find their rhythm. The woman ends up thoroughly fucked on the steps of the altar, screaming in delight, while everyone around grows incredibly impatient – yet no one dares disturb them. You remember what Rose told you about sexual cults once, how pleasure and religion intertwined sometimes, and you can see what she was talking about now. There are... Rules, to all of these things. Shit, what if she’s seen that same video? When do you think she’s started liking it? Do you think she did?

You think about Rose and the expression she takes when she’s focused on something: she looks like a small bird of prey, a falcon maybe, one of these with small beaks and piercing eyes, because she squints a bit and her mouth curves sharply on her cheeks. Is that how she looked when she made her “research”? Or does she look like the Rose in your dreams, with the flushed cheeks, the messy hair, and her teeth firmly planted in her lips (but not enough to prevent a cry to come out, and then her nails would scrap the dirt and she’d roll her hips, frustrated, desperate, trying to get closer because fuck, Jade, why aren’t you doing anything yet, come on, come on – oh, you’d love it if she begged you to do something, ordered you to do something. You’d wait until she did, look at her slim body crashing like waves against yours, and wait for her to _ask for it_.)

The pleased cries of the woman echo in your ears. You bury your head in the mattress. Rose is still pleading in your head and right now you’d give almost anything to be able to hold her and marvel at how nice she looks.

Suddenly, the camera shakes even more: there’s a flash of light, and some noise. You peer over your folded left arm to watch your computer screen –

\- huge and gracious, with teeth as long as your fingers and bright green eyes like a wild beast caught on tape (neon green, fire green, sun green, even) –

Aradia Megido holds herself behind the woman lying still on the steps.

The way her lips curl on her fangs plucks at the strings of your heart and the moment you realise it’s not fake, it’s her, it’s really her, the woman of your dreams, the one perched like a bird in the trees above your ten-years-old self – is the moment you tell yourself that _fuck you’re in deep_.

Her eyes flash at the camera. Your fingers hit deeper than expected and your knees jerk.

She’s smiling, a terrifying smile. You find yourself loving it.

Were the prayers always so loud?

You can’t watch that. You can’t. It’s not just rude. It’s disgusting. Look at you. Who are you to look at a goddess like that. Dirty small useless dog girl, moaning at the stars. Look how pathetic you look, always fawning after people who’re so much better than you. Always complaining. Always dreaming. Always wanting wanting wanting.

You cover your eyes. Uncover them. Look again.

The woman digs her nails into Aradia’s thighs. The pale square of her hair gleams against the grey skin. Your heart summersaults and you bite your hand so you don’t moan, desperate, furious, so incredibly full of want.

Once more, you stop looking.

The sound still hits your ears in waves of skin against skin, chanting and crying, and even with your face pressed against the mattress you can picture it in bright triangles of colours: snake white-haired girl moving against a blood-lipped beast goddess (death bringer, they called her) as she fucks her, one, two, three fingers, slow, slow, slower, deep and almost-too-big, teeth grazing the skin but not hurting, and the girl pleads, _gods, gods, please, i want more_ , and you say, _please_ –

Blood floods your cheeks, your tongue, white noise in your ears. The goddess growls. The woman laughs. You feel like you’ve just been eaten whole.

You hate yourself until the next morning.

* * *

\- How much time do we have left? Rose asks suddenly, pen frozen in mid-air.

You extend a lazy arm and manage, after some fumbling, to get your phone out of your bag:

\- Fifteen minutes, you answer, squinting at the screen.

Rose lets out a panicked, but determined little sigh and you hear the _scratch scratch_ of her pen resume with some urgency. You smile to yourself. It’s not even like’s she’s doing last-minute homework (although she’s devilishly good at it) – she’s just working on one of her twenty novels, one of those she swears she’ll finish by the end of the month.

\- Twelve minutes left, you say maliciously.

Rose doesn’t even look at you, but she still throws a handful of dirt in your general direction to make you shut up.

You cross your arms under your head and fall back on your school bag, looking at the sky and feeling quite in the mood for a good nap. The park’s still nice at this time of the year, less crowded than in summer, almost peaceful. When you were a kid you would never have passed an occasion like this one to go roam around the pond and try to capture a duck. Now you just want to sleep.

\- I think I’m a grandma, Rose, you complain out loud.

\- Is this such a bad thing?

\- I don’t think I’d be able to successfully outrun a deer now.

\- Don’t underestimate yourself, she says in a light tone of voice before shaking her pen so the ink flows better (because of course Rose uses an ink pen and not a ballpoint pen like all normal people! You guess it fits her aesthetic, though.)

\- Aw, that’s nice, Rose. But I know I’m decaying. Like, my bones hurt all the time. I’m an old cranky grandma.

\- I think you’d be a phenomenal grandma.

\- Really?

\- Yes. You’ll be the kind of grandmother that lives in a mysterious manor in the middle of the British countryside, and goes on puzzling “business trips” only to come back with riches and stories of resurrected corpses chasing you in the empty streets of ancient Toltec cities.

\- So kind of an Indiana Jones grandma?

\- Add a hint of the old man in Narnia and you’ll be right there.

You smile to yourself:

\- That’d be cool. I’ll use my wealth to pay you to write my stories. You’ll have like a thousand black cats and walk around in a pink nightgown and it’ll probably always be midnight where you live.

\- We’d be the odd couple all neighbours would be whispering of. The pair of witches on top of the hills. “Beware the sorceresses”, they’d tell their children at night, “be quiet or they’ll come and take you.”

You smile again, but this time your heartbeat gets louder. There is no mockery in Rose’s voice, nothing except a strange sadness, and softness that sounds tender, more honest and wistful than Rose ever is.

You sit back up, turn to look at her. You want to ask her if she’s okay. You don’t do that. She has that little round smile again, black lipstick on her pale face. With the sun, her hair glows pale yellow, and all of a sudden, she’s... She’s only seventeen. Her mother drinks too much. She gets blackout drunk the night before exams so she doesn’t stress out about it. She cried in her room when her cat died. She’s lonely, and vulnerable, and just as old as you.

\- We could also just be normal grandmas, you say softly.

Her smiles grows a little larger, less timid:

\- Sure we could.

She straightens herself:

\- By the way, I wanted to ask you a question.

You nod:

\- Sure!

\- Do you ever think about...

A pause. It’s so unlike her to fumble through her words. She gestures unconsciously around her, then takes a deep breath:

\- Do you ever think about what we saw in the woods?

You freeze. You don’t ask her what she means because you _godsdamn well know_ what she means. Around you, time freezes videogame-style and you can almost see the wheel of choice rolling up before your eyes. You’ve got two options: be honest about it and face the weight of your actions (and if you do admit it Rose will look at you in a way and you can already feel the tension and like, fuck, you can’t just admit to it and then not kiss her), or lie and say you’ve forgotten already (put it on the shock, play it as a joke, yeah, John Egbert-style, you can do this).

But no witty, charming joke comes to you. You’re left dumb and unresponsive for a moment, before managing to utter a measly:

\- Do you?

Rose’s eyes get darker:

\- I asked you first.

\- I... Yeah. Sometimes. It’s not something you, um, really forget about, right?

You hear your own desperation in that little “right?”, the begging for approval. Rose’s face is inscrutable.

\- No, I suppose not, she eventually says.

\- Why?

\- What?

\- Why are you asking?

She’s still unreadable, she who was so vulnerable moments ago. It’s almost painful to see her like this. You like Rose when she allows herself to be, well, Rose. But there’s tension between you, heavy and electric, and when you can’t do anything but feel it and live it, Rose detaches herself from her surroundings and takes the time to think.

\- It’s nothing. Excuse my dramatisation of the whole thing. I was simply wondering.

Why are you lying? you want to ask. Why are you like this? Why can’t we just talk? Why haven’t we kissed yet? Why aren’t you kissing me right now? Do you like me? Do you know you’re my best friend in the whole world? Do you know how much I love you, Rose Lalonde?

\- Okay, you croak instead.

* * *

 

A week later, Rose announces on the group chat she’s dating one of her literature teachers. You’ve had as your professor two years ago; she’s a brilliant woman, sharp, clever. John says in his oblivious way of his: “wait, you’re gay?”; Dave warns her about the dangers of large age gaps, reminds her that consent is important, and begs her to be safe – a monologue which you’re not sure is entirely ironic; you send a line of exclamation marks, three smiley faces, and a simple “congrats!”

Then, you go to sleep.

Gods, you’re so tired.


End file.
